


Always

by eveshka



Series: Tales of the Dawn King [9]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-04
Updated: 2017-04-04
Packaged: 2018-10-14 21:07:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,242
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10544348
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eveshka/pseuds/eveshka
Summary: From Never to Always is but a heartbeat.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Rating: G  
> Warnings: None  
> Characters: Ignis Scientia, Noctis Lucis Caelum, Regis Lucis Caelum, Clarus Amicitia  
> Time Period: Around Noctis' 9th birthday  
> Location: Insomnia

A field trip. To Alastor Slough. That was the very last place that the nearly ten year old wanted to go. But that was where the prince wanted to go for his birthday, so that was where he was going. At least, until Noctis was so smugly in Ignis' face over it that the older boy had shouted that he never wanted to do anything with the prince again, marched himself into the kitchens and ate the biggest, sugariest thing he could find in a sulky anticipation of getting dragged halfway across Lucis.

When the sugary marshmellow treats gave him a stomachache and he was left behind, Ignis almost wished he felt well enough to do a victory dance. As it was, he was lying on a small sofa, stomach aching in ways he hadn’t thought possible between bouts of emptying it into the nearby bin a staffer had provided.

He’d fallen into an uneasy half-sleep when the news came in, and the atmosphere in the rooms grew quiet and tense. Staffers whispered to each other back and forth, words half caught by the child wallowing in his privately pained delight that he hadn’t gone. Until the words ‘injury’ and ‘prince’ were passed from one staffer’s lips to another’s ear.

Ignis roused himself, ignoring the wave of nausea that rolled through him as he tried to sit up. “Noctis… hurt?” he managed, only to be pressed gently back into the sofa by a well-meaning member of the house staff.

“Rest, Ignis. It is a blessing of the Six that you weren’t there. The prince was injured, but is returning with King Regis.” They didn’t know the extent of the event, only that reports had come back that there had been an attack, and that daemons had made it that far into Lucis with the King himself coming to the aid of his son.

A blessing of the Six. More like Ignis’ fault it had happened. He hadn’t been there. The last word he’d hurled at Noctis echoed in his head. _Never. Never. Never. Never. Never._ It was in his heartbeat, it burned in his stomach. He rolled over and vomited again.

 

Hours passed, someone occasionally checking on Ignis, and at length, he awoke, feeling far better than he had since eating the marshmallow candies, and overwhelmed by guilt, his bare feet took him to the door, and then out in search of an attendant who could give him more information. What he found instead was a guard who none-too-gently told him to return to the prince’s room. When Ignis protested, he was picked up bodily by none other than Titus Drautos and returned to the sofa. (It would be years before Ignis got over _that_ particular insult.)

Finally, finally, after Ignis had picked up the house phone and started calling the head attendant every five minutes, a knock came at the door before it was pushed open and the King’s Shield, Clarus Amicitia, folded his arms and looked down at the imperious ten year old, who was completely unfazed by the attention. Instead, the child pushed his glasses up his nose, turned an emerald gaze to the Shield, and just looked at him, fighting tears.

_Never. Never. Never._

Clarus worked his jaw for a moment, and then, seeing the child trying so hard to be serious, he knelt before Ignis and reached for the boy. “Come here, Ignis.” His voice was gruff, though not unkind, and Ignis moved towards him slowly. When he was within reach, he was enfolded into a fatherly embrace, and held for a moment before Clarus rose with the boy suddenly having to throw his arms around the man’s neck. “Let’s take you to Noctis. Perhaps it will help.”

“Is he so very hurt, then?” Grownup words from a child, but as they passed the guards, Ignis couldn’t help but stick his tongue out at Drautos. See? I won. You have to stand there and I’m going where I wanted to. So there. Clarus spoke, pulling the boy away from his thoughts.

“He rests, though does not wake. His injury would set a lesser man to bed for life, but you and I know that the young prince is better than that, don’t we?” They navigated the halls of the Citadel, heading towards the medical wing, a place that smelled of antiseptic and sadness. It was a place Ignis disliked, smelly and filled with people that rushed along and never once stopped to smile.

But there he was, and Clarus had moved them through a series of doors, and suddenly there was color against the eye-searing white. Noctis was a black splash of hair in a bed, skin almost as pale as the sheets. An older man sitting next to him, cloaked in black, hair turning lightly silver against all that Ignis understood, but he knew it was King Regis. The crown was missing; Regis was there as father, not King.

Clarus moved Ignis, lowering the boy to his feet, and Ignis felt unsteady as he stepped towards the bed. This was his fault. He’d fought with Noctis and eaten all that candy so he wouldn’t have to go. Noctis wouldn’t be here if Ignis had gone. They would have gone together and everything would have gone differently. Ignis would have seen the danger. He would have- arms collected him, drew him tightly against black cloth, and a voice rumbled in his ear, warm breath in his hair. “Don’t you think that. Don’t you think that for one moment.”

Ignis hadn’t realized he’d been thinking out loud until Regis pulled him close. “But I did. I didn’t want to go. So I ate the candies until I got sick. It’s my fault.” He couldn’t even try to get out of it. Guilt overrode all else, tears falling behind glasses, spilling down his cheeks.

A look passed over his head between the grown men, and Regis pressed a kiss to Ignis’ hair as Clarus rested his hand on the boy’s shoulder. And when Regis spoke, it was as a father to a son, for Ignis was as close to a brother to Noctis, and it was hard to separate them in Regis’ mind. “Then you will simply have to make it up to him when he wakes.”

With a mighty sniffle, Ignis nodded, and Regis lifted him up onto the bed. “There you are, Ignis. Why don’t you apologize; I’m sure he’ll hear you.” When Ignis burrowed into the blanket beside Noctis, neither man objected. In fact, Regis might have smoothed the covers over both boys. Clarus would never tell.

“I’m sorry, Noct. I won’t do it again. Just please don’t go away.” He curled up against the terribly still and wan form of the prince, as if he could transfer some of his own warmth and life through simple touch.

Clarus’ hand found a perch on Regis’ shoulder, a wordless offer of support for the father whose son lay so still. When the door opened slightly, Clarus turned, and then murmured the King’s name. Regis turned, nodded, and then looked back to the boys on the bed. “Ignis, Clarus and I are stepping outside to speak with the doctor. Keep an eye on him for me.”

Ignis, who had closed his eyes, opened the right one to look back to Regis with a sleepy smile. “Always.” And in that sleepy moment, his heartbeat changed. _Always. Always. Always. Always._


End file.
